


A Different Path

by PechoraFlow



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Also brief cameos from other characters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Darklands AU, Father-Son Relationship, GIVE ME MY WHOLESOME FATHER-SON RELATIONSHIP DAMMIT, Gen, Hisirdoux Whump, How Do I Tag, I WILL REDEEM THIS TRASH MAN IF IT KILLS ME, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Muteness, Protective Merlin, Rated T just because this show would be rated T if it were live action lets be honest, Somewhat out of character tbh, Their lives have been different so that's my excuse, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, and that's not a tag...why?, but - Freeform, but I support Merlin with a heart, merlin is emotionally constipated, no beta we die like the trash wizard dad, too soon T.T
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28715778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PechoraFlow/pseuds/PechoraFlow
Summary: So somebody said "Darklands AU where Hisirdoux is taken to the Darklands at the Battle of Killahead Bridge" and my brain exploded---Merlin’s pale eyes flicked up, and it hit Jim just how…oldMerlin looked. His eyes were tired, and his shoulders were hunched, as if he, too, carried the world upon his shoulders and had done so for a very long time.The master wizard confessed, “I fought with a Trollhunter before, at the Battle of Killahead Bridge. Deya, was her name. I’ve heard the fool with six eyes refer to her as ‘Deya the Deliverer.’ I suppose she was a deliverer, for some. But she was not enough for me.”Merlin trailed off, and his gaze fogged over again, as if his mind was somewhere else. “…Iwas not enough, that day.”
Relationships: Archie & Merlin (Tales of Arcadia), Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan & Jim Lake Jr., Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan & Merlin (Tales of Arcadia)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74





	A Different Path

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dark is the Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28575210) by [SilentJellyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentJellyfish/pseuds/SilentJellyfish). 



> Literally, I have loved the mentor-mentee adoptive father-son relationship for my whole life. It's so wholesome <3
> 
> I don't have that much practice with writing Merlin, yet. And, he has been through different life events than canon Merlin, so I took some liberties with his character. And Hisirdoux, of course, is going to be a bit different. Living without Archie in the Darklands for 900 years turned him into a different person, as well. However, I tried to keep the cores of their characters the same. 
> 
> Also - we will be time skipping. These are the most important moments I could think of to depict in this particular AU.

Jim was roughly thrown into the cell, but he was able to catch himself. He pivoted on one foot, ready to fight back-

Glowing spires of red activated just in front of the Gumm-Gumms that had escorted him down here, cutting Jim off from the only exit. The trolls left, and as soon as they were out of sight, Jim sat down, exhausted.

Sure, he was _technically_ in captivity. Sure, he was in a dungeon. But the odd thing was that this was the safest place he had been for the past few weeks. His old campsite (if you could call it that) was somewhat in the open, and though it was off the beaten path (as far as he could tell), a Gumm-Gumm or other magical monster could still stumble upon him and kill him while he slept. Needless to say, he hadn't gotten much sleep, lately. But here, he could finally get some shut eye. He could feel a weight lift from his shoulders, the feeling of being stalked finally dissipating.

Now, he just felt tired. And sore.

He groaned, laying back. His armor rattled noisily against the cold, stone floor, and the clatter echoed through the dungeon.

There was a distant sound of dripping water and the heavy march of Gumm-Gumm soldiers.

The air here was still, just like the rest of the Darklands. No wind, no breeze, nothing.

He had yet to decide whether it was peaceful or not.

“Trollhunter,” a feminine, raspy voice called.

Jim blinked open his eyes, surprised that he had drifted off to sleep so easily. “Huh?” he managed groggily. “Who’s there?"

“The human's been trying to get your attention for the last hour," the voice said, annoyed. It sounded like it was coming from the cell next to him.

Jim sat up, his tight muscles protesting against the movement. “What? Did you say...?” His eyes fell on the cell across from him. The _occupied_ cell across from him.

Another boy with black hair looked back at him, his skin almost sickly pale from a severe lack of sunlight. His almost yellow eyes seemed to glow in the dark, vibrant and alive in an otherwise dead and hostile world. He looked to be a few years older than Jim, but not many.

Once the boy noticed that Jim was awake, he sat up straighter and waved, offering a lopsided smile.

“Uh,” Jim said. “Hi.”

The boy made a motion with his hands.

Jim frowned. "You can't speak?"

The boy put a hand against his throat and shook his head.

“That’s okay,” Jim said. “Do you know ASL? I know the alphabet. You could spell out what you're trying to say.”

Now it was the boy’s turn to look lost.

The person in the cell next to Jim’s scoffed. “He’s been here for hundreds of years, Trollhunter. He doesn't know that America exists, let alone that it has its own sign language.”

“Hundreds-?!” Jim sputtered. “How old _are_ you?”

The boy smirked, amused.

And then, it hit him. Something in Jim’s chest wilted. "Have you really been in the Darklands for that long?"

The boy nodded.

Jim leaned back on his hands. “Sheesh. And I thought two weeks was hard.”

The boy shrugged and made a dismissive gesture with his hands.

“You get used to it?" Jim guessed.

The boy nodded.

“So what's your name?" Jim asked, moving closer to the bars of his cell.

The boy tapped a cuff on his wrist, then fiddled with it for a moment. Once he got it how he wanted it, he started writing in the air with his left hand - the finger-pads of which were glowing blue. Every brush left a trail of blue magic, until the lines and loops spelled out...

“Hisirdoux,” Jim read.

Hisirdoux gave him a cheeky salute, then pointed at Jim, a questioning expression on his face.

“Oh, I'm Jim,” Jim said with a wave.

Hisirdoux tapped the left side of his chest.

Jim looked down - as if he had _forgotten_ that he was wearing the Eclipse armor - and spotted Merlin’s amulet on his own left breast. “Yeah. I’m the Trollhunter.”

Hisirdoux made a face.

“No, really,” Jim laughed. “First human Trollhunter. Nobody thought it was possible, when I first went into Heartstone Trollmarket.”

“And now that the amulet’s in the Darklands, you’ll be the last Trollhunter,” the voice from beside Jim said. “Congratulations. What an honor.”

Jim glared at the wall. “Look, lady. Could you kindly _knock it off?_ My self-esteem’s low enough as it is.”

“Silence, all of you!” A new voice.

Jim looked back to the path outside his cell to find Dictatious, accompanied by two Gumm-Gumm soldiers. Was he ever _not_ protected?

“Get the Trollhunter,” Dictatious ordered. “The Underlord wants to crush his bones beneath his fist.”

The feminine voice cackled. “Nice knowing you, Trollhunter.”

Jim saw the resignation in Hisirdoux’s face. The ancient boy waved goodbye sadly.

A sack was shoved over Jim's head and he was dragged out of his cell.

* * *

Jim wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting when he went into Merlin’s tomb. He expected a dead body, sure, but he was so used to things _not_ being what they seemed that it somehow caught him by surprise.

Then, having said dead body wake up and hack up a lung caught him off guard once again. (Really, it scared him so badly that he almost thought his own heart had stopped beating.)

Merlin…did not act like how Jim thought Merlin should act. For one, he was a lot more spry than Jim would have thought he would be (joint-cracking aside). There was no telling what he would say next - from a joke to a compliment to a thinly-veiled insult, _anything_ was on the table.

Jim longed for the days when hunting goblins and chasing gnomes were the weirdest things he had to deal with.

He had also woken up with a cat - a black cat, with tufts of white fur on its chest and face. The cat seemed fairly intelligent, but was altogether somewhat lazy. It just sat on Merlin’s shoulders, licking its paws and looking at them. Merlin had yet to say anything about it (or even _look_ at it, or acknowledge its general existence), so nobody else said anything, either.

Jim had _really_ wanted to say something when the cat put on glasses, but he restrained himself.

Merlin managed to fix Jim’s amulet just in time for them all to escape, but he was displeased with their failure to grab the Staff of Avalon before Gunmar could.

Whatever. He was one to talk. If he hadn’t been too busy napping, maybe he could have been helpful.

Jim didn’t say that out loud, either.

On the journey home, only one thought ran through Jim’s head: _Mom’s gonna hate this guy._

* * *

Douxie stumbled forward from the harsh shove and fell on his knees, his hands bound together in front of him.

He glared up at his captors. One he recognized, but the other two were strangers to him - a tall, lanky troll with a glowing, yellow eye and horns that framed his head, and a slightly rounded troll with celestial blue etchings running across her stone skin. And, of course, Gunmar towered above them both, his massive form and large horns forcing everyone to steer clear of him.

“This is Merlin’s boy, isn’t it? Why can’t he read the inscription?” the troll with the blue etchings asked, turning to Gunmar. She had some level of independence about her, but obviously looked to the lord of the Darklands for orders. Interesting…

“He’s mute, Usurna,” Gunmar said, turning away. Clearly, the matter wasn’t worth his attention. “He can read Trollish, but can’t speak. He’s of no use to us.”

“He can be of _some_ use,” a new voice said.

Douxie froze, every muscle in his body tensing up - he knew that voice. That was the same voice that had taken care of him when he was sick, back in Camelot. That was the same voice that had offered encouragement after a particularly harsh scolding from Merlin. That was the same voice that had cackled in triumph as he fell through the gaping maw of the portal at Killahead Bridge, doomed to live out the rest of his life in the dim caverns of the Darklands.

_Morgana._

He looked back at her frozen form, imagining that her green eyes - eyes that had once looked upon him with kindness and sympathy - were glaring at him, as if her imprisonment was somehow his fault.

…Yes, _imagining_.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Morgana’s voice returned, sickly sweet. Douxie felt an uncomfortable shiver run its fingers up his spine, the familiar feeling of her magic curling around his bones. “I hope the Darklands weren’t too harsh on you. Though, if it is true that you cannot speak, I can help with that.”

Douxie vehemently shook his head. He wasn’t going to get his voice back just to undo the work his master put into sealing the Eldritch Queen away for centuries. No. He had mucked up his fair share of Merlin’s spells, enchantments, and potions, but this would not be one of them. He would die first.

Morgana pushed, “Oh, come now. I know how much you loved to play your music. I used to hear you sing songs to your familiar. I could give that back to you. I could heal your voice. Just swear to me-”

Douxie scowled and bared his teeth at her. _Never_.

Morgana sighed. “Oh well. Perhaps you will choose differently once I’ve killed Merlin once and for all, and your hope rests only in me. I could finish your training, you know. I would be happy to teach you, to help you earn your staff."

Douxie snarled and spat on the ground in front of her.

"Perhaps a few hundred years more of silence and servitude will make you more _grateful,"_ Morgana said, the sweetness now completely gone from her tone. "You know what? Why don’t we start right now? Champion.”

“Yes, my queen,” the taller troll answered, stepping forward.

“Take him somewhere he won’t bother us,” she said. Douxie could almost imagine the look of indifference on her face - he knew it well from his time in Camelot. “I don’t care where, just put him out of the way. And make sure he can’t join the battle. Take that to mean what you will.”

“Yes, my queen,” the troll said, bowing deeply.

A single, yellow eye fixed on Douxie, and for the first time in centuries, he felt a spike of fear in his chest. He had seen that look before. He didn't survive so long in the Darklands by being ignorant of his opponents. Before they had finally caught him, he had been prey in a realm of monsters for centuries. It was a miracle he’d been able to survive on his own for so long, honestly. Then, after he had been overpowered and captured by Gunmar himself, and he spent another few centuries as entertainment for the Underlord, facing all types of monsters, all types of magic. He had to learn and adapt, or it would cost him his life.

One look at Morgana's Champion was all Douxie needed to know that this was a troll was ruthless. He had seen desolation, felt despair and desperation ten times over. He had committed just as many horrors as he had seen, and he was willing to go further still. The look in his eye matched that of someone who had nothing to lose, because he already knew how it felt to lose everything.

The troll grabbed Douxie by the hair and pulled him to his feet, leaning in close. “You will obey,” the troll growled, “or I promise you a painful death that will last long enough to double your age. Do you understand?”

Douxie glared in response. He wasn’t about to be intimidated (or let his enemy know that he was).

Gunmar let out a rattled huff of annoyance. “He’s mute, Angor Rot. He won’t answer you. Just take him away and return with haste. Our preparations must continue.”

Angor growled, but Douxie was unsure of where his ire was directed. He didn’t have long to ponder. In the next moment, Angor grabbed hold of Douxie’s shackles and pulled him roughly to his feet.

* * *

Merlin shut the front door with force, standing between Jim and the outside world. The black cat with the glasses was perched on top of the nearby bookshelf, watching the two of them with dry interest.

…Something was _not right_ about that cat.

“You’re not listening to me,” Merlin said in a low voice, his entire body still as stone as he stared at Jim. “Regardless of where your mother is, Morgana is still getting closer to the Eternal Night. Gunmar and Angor Rot are preparing their armies, I’m sure. You chose to put your life aside when you took up my amulet, James. That includes the people _in_ your life. You must face Morgana, finish the fight alone.”

“No,” Jim said, shaking his head. “That’s _not_ how we do things around here. We’re stronger together-”

“But you have yet to defeat Gunmar, correct?” Merlin challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t matter-” Jim started.

“You would put all of them in danger? And for what?”

“They chose to stand with me! We’re family. They’re not going to let me face Gunmar alone, and I’m not going to force them to do anything.”

“You’re foolish,” Merlin spat. “You insolent _child!_ You are supposed to be my _Trollhunter._ You are supposed to put others' lives before your own and yet you're perfectly willing to let them die for you? You have no idea the battle you’re going into, no idea the dangers you will face and still you scoff at them, as if you’ve already won the war. You’re naive, and grossly unprepared, and…”

The cat was at Merlin’s side in the next moment, nudging his head against Merlin’s armored leg. Merlin looked down at it, distracted, and Jim caught sight of something in his eyes - realization, maybe. Understanding, perhaps.

Merlin sat down at the dining table with a sigh, rubbing his brow with his thumb to ease the tension. His cat jumped up into his lap, and Merlin started to run his fingers through the cat's soft fur.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” Merlin said, but he didn’t look at Jim. He stared at a spot on the floor, unseeing. “Morgana is ruthless. Even if she is defeated, she will not go without taking some sort of victory. As a human, you may be able to defeat her with my assistance, but I cannot guarantee that you will be able to protect those you care about. You should leave your friends to find your mother, while you face the real threat on your own. You can’t both keep them safe _and_ win the fight.”

“Of course I can,” Jim said gently, surprising himself with the amount of kindness in his voice. “I have your amulet. I wield daylight in the Eternal Night. She may be able to block out the sun, but I’ll just be that much more powerful. Light burns brightest in darkness, and all that.”

Merlin’s pale eyes flicked up to Jim, and it hit him just how… _old_ Merlin looked. His eyes were tired, and his shoulders were hunched, as if he, too, carried the world upon his shoulders and had done so for a very long time. The master wizard confessed, “I fought with a Trollhunter before, at the Battle of Killahead Bridge. Deya, was her name. I’ve heard the fool with six eyes refer to her as ‘Deya the Deliverer.’ I suppose she was a deliverer, for some. But she was not enough for me.”

Merlin trailed off, and his gaze fogged over again, as if his mind was somewhere else. “… _I_ was not enough, that day.”

“But you defeated Morgana and sealed Gunmar in the Darklands,” Jim said, frowning. “You won.”

“I lost my son in that battle,” Merlin said, his graveled voice laced with heartache that Jim hadn’t heard from him, before. The cat nudged Merlin’s chest plate, but the master wizard didn’t pay him any attention. He was still caught in the pain of the past, numb to the present. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t strong enough to save him. I was at the height of my power...I had prepared for centuries, but…”

An uncomfortable, delicate silence settled in the house.

Slowly, Jim eased himself into a seat near the master wizard. “What happened? Who was he?”

“He was a lot like you, actually,” Merlin said, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Sometimes, I see him in you.”

“I hope that’s a compliment,” Jim joked.

“Mostly,” Merlin said with a wince. “He was eager to prove himself, endlessly curious, reckless, foolish, stubborn…brave…

“I remember telling him to stay in Camelot, where it was safe, but he never listened to me.” Merlin smiled forlornly. “I saw him on the battlefield, next to the knights, as if he had any sort of combat training whatsoever. Then, Morgana made her appearance, and I ran after her, to end her once and for all. We fought for hours, until we both found our way back to Killahead, just in time to see Deya put my amulet in the bridge. Gunmar, the other Gumm-Gumms, and the goblins were sucked into the Darklands, but I was too distracted, too busy searching for him - my last apprentice.

“I laid eyes on him for only a moment before Morgana grabbed him, casting him into the Darklands with the rest of her army. The portal was sealed before I could…” Merlin clenched his fist and took a tremulous breath. “I admit, I…lost control of my magic, but from there, encasing her in a heartstone for eternity wasn’t that much of a challenge. My…emotional state gave me the boost I needed for the proper incantation. Still, I had used the last of my magic to seal her away. Otherwise, I would have reopened the portal myself. Reckless and irresponsible, I know, but he shouldn’t have… I can only imagine the gruesome fate he met, locked away with the worst creatures of this world. It was a fate he didn’t deserve.”

Merlin stared off into space, haunted. “I can still hear him call out to me. I can…still see his face. He was terrified. And she…” Too choked up to continue, Merlin looked down and cleared his throat, collecting himself. When he looked up, he was back to the same-old-Merlin. “Morgana is ruthless. She cares nothing for life, and seeks only the survival of magic. You must not-”

“Wait, he was a wizard? As in magic?” Jim interrupted, sitting up straighter. “Young guy, maybe 19? In the Darklands?”

Merlin looked somewhere between _annoyed-that-he-had-been-interrupted_ and _skeptically-curious_. “Yes. Why?”

“His name wouldn’t happen to be Hisirdoux, would it?”

 _That_ caught Merlin’s attention. Even the cat sat up, watching Jim with an expression that was distinctly not-cat. “How did you know that?”

“He’s alive,” Jim said, standing up with a smile on his face. “He was with me and Nomura in Gunmar’s dungeon! He’s fine! Well, mostly fine.”

Merlin stood. The cat just barely jumped out of the way in time. “What? What do you mean? What happened to him? How did he-?”

“He’s probably somewhere in Arcadia, by now,” Jim said, hands out to calm the master wizard. “We’ll find him, I promise. But I just know he’s alright.”

Merlin sank back into the chair, his frame unsteady but his eyes locked on Jim’s. “He’s alright.”

“He’s alright,” Jim repeated, smiling. “He can’t talk, but he’s strong. He helped me escape a few months ago. I had to fight him once. He’s pretty good-”

“Enough,” Merlin said, closing his eyes and holding out a hand. “I can’t… If you tell me anymore, I’ll be too tempted to go out and find him. Right now, we need to focus on Morgana. The world is at stake, here. We can’t afford to become distracted.”

“I wouldn’t say trying to find your long-lost son would make you ‘distracted’-” Jim tried.

“I would,” Merlin said, his resolve hardening. “That is what happened before. That was what gave Morgana her chance to strike. I see the bigger picture, young Trollhunter. I have no excuse. It is not my place to trade the lives of the world for his life. Besides…” A look of fondness peeked back into Merlin’s face. “…I have a feeling he wouldn’t want me to sacrifice the life of any creature, mortal or magical, for his sake.”

“Alright,” Jim gave in. “So what’s the plan? How do we defeat Morgana, if I’m not strong enough now?”

Merlin stood and moved into the kitchen. Jim stayed in the dining room, watching the cat, which made its way over to the open window in the living room and jumped out.

Jim frowned. “Uh, your cat just left.”

“He can go where he likes,” Merlin called back.

Then, the master wizard returned, carrying a neon green jar in his hands. He set it down on the dining table and looked Jim in the eye. “I would not ask this of anyone, if I thought it could be helped, and I wouldn’t entrust this power and responsibility to anyone but my Trollhunter. But still, the choice is yours to make. Become a half-troll, save the world and lose your life, or remain a human and fail to save anyone.”

Jim took the jar in his hands. “Not much of a choice, is it?”

“For a hero with your heart? With your conscience? There’s never really a choice.”

* * *

Merlin had mixed feelings about Jim’s transformation.

A small part of him was relieved that the change was so physically different. It was harder to see Hisirdoux’s face in Jim’s, now that one was half-troll.

The larger part of him wanted to find his staff so that he could beat himself over the head easier. Not only had he failed his apprentice - who could still be alive, even after all this time (and he still wasn’t sure if that was a chance at redemption or just another nail in his coffin) - but he had also failed the Trollhunter. The amulet was the most powerful thing that Merlin could make, without help from the likes of the Arcane Order or some other ancient force. But it wasn’t enough; Jim would have to sacrifice the life he knew - the way he lived, the things he liked - for more power.

Even though that Changeling (William? Wilfor? ...Wil-something.) had been preparing Jim for this, he could foresee a likely path of Jim needing guidance and time to adjust. However, at the end of the world, time was just one more thing that they didn’t have. Jim would have to adapt quickly. He might have a few days, he might have a few hours. He would have to just work with what he was given.

So, while he waited for the Trollhunter to test out his new abilities and grow used to his new physiology, Merlin prepared.

He went into town, to his stronghold: an old bookstore that looked like it had been closed for decades. The shop’s name could just barely be made out - GDT Arcane Books. He unlocked the door, went in, and did what he did best.

He researched.

Living through several millennia had taught Merlin one thing: he would likely never know everything there was to know - especially now that he had slept through nine hundred years. He would have a lot to catch up on, if he could ever find a moment of peace, and he would likely never know the last millennium as well as he knew the ones he personally lived through. And, of course, the first order of business would be to figure out how that humming cupboard in the kitchen knew when to turn on and turn off its light (if it ever went out, as the Trollhunter had claimed it did).

But he wasn’t looking for a history lesson.

He cast a simple searching spell over the store, ordering the shelves to give up their books regarding the Darklands, dark magic, and shadowmancy.

And, while he was at it, he picked up an enchanted telescope.

The other thing that several millennia had taught Merlin was this: having an eye on your enemy, having any information about them, was always beneficial.

With that, Merlin placed a finger on the rim of the telescope and dragged his finger pad around the edge. _“Oculus caelorum,”_ he said. Green runes lit up as the telescope activated, and he put it up to his eye.

On the other end of the scope was Trollmarket. The Heartstone was dead, its black and grey spires of crystal stretching to the roof of the cavern. Gumm-Gumm soldiers marched through otherwise empty streets, but Gunmar himself was nowhere to be found. Morgana was also notably absent.

At his command, the scene shifted, moving further into the Heartstone, down to where he had trapped Morgana all those centuries ago.

To his relief, she was still there, suspended in crystal. Her frozen cape billowed out behind her, and her armor glinted dimly in the cavern.

That was the only thing that brought him relief. He could feel the familiar thrum of pre-battle adrenaline as his gaze turned on Gunmar and a tall, thin lackey, their eyes both glowing with an unnatural burn. In Gunmar’s hands, he held the Staff of Avalon - which was to be expected, but it made his heart sink all the same. A wizard’s staff was like a key to his soul; no one else should have possession of it. It was as much a tool as it was a personal item, an extension of himself.

Gunmar planted the staff in the ground and gestured for someone to come forward - an impure. The one that had been with Madam Lake, before. Will-something. Well, there was one question answered.

He bid the telescope to move on. He already could guess what happened from here; Morgana would be freed, and she would start preparations to bring about the Eternal Night and end humanity. Yes, yes, he’d seen it all before.

The scene shifted, and Merlin could have sworn that his heart stopped. Sure, he had trusted the word of his Trollhunter, but there was a difference between hearing and _seeing_ for himself that Hisirdoux was alive. There was still some part of him, some voice of reason in the back of his mind that wondered if he was seeing a mirage - if this was one of Morgana’s tricks, because there was no way that the young, clumsy, and reckless apprentice that he had taken under his wing a millennium ago could still be alive after living for hundreds of years in the Darklands.

And yet.

There he was.

In a large, dark room, Hisirdoux sat with his back against the wall. His hair was messier, but he had kept it around the same length and pulled back just as he always had. His bright yellow eyes, once alight with a hunger for knowledge and a wonder at all things magical, had dulled. There was a wariness in his gaze, even though he seemed to be at rest - as if he didn’t trust his surroundings to remain harmless. Though his eyes remained alert, his shoulders were hunched and his hands lay motionless in his lap, too tired to move. His wrists had obvious scars and discoloration from shackles that had been there for a long time - though the only restraint Merlin could see was around the boy’s ankle. A metal inhibitor cuff glowed with Trollish runes, keeping Hisirdoux’s magic suppressed. Merlin couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been forced to wear the artifact; it was never healthy for a wizard’s magic to be suppressed for very long.

Merlin wanted to send a message to him, to let Hisirdoux know he was on his way, that this time, he would set things _right_. He wanted to retrieve the Fair Claire and demand she open a portal that instant.

But he couldn’t.

Morgana had surely noticed his presence in Arcadia, by now. Even weakened as he was, she hated him too much and his aura was too strong for her _not_ to notice. Any attempt to contact Hisirdoux would be picked up on, immediately.

No, if he wanted to make sure Hisirdoux stayed alive, he needed to pretend as though he had no knowledge of Hisirdoux’s survival. He needed to make sure Morgana never even _thought_ of using his apprentice against him.

Failure in this was not an option.

Not when he had failed so completely, last time.

The door to the shop opened and closed. “Ah. Knew I would find it, sooner or later.” _Archie._

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Merlin asked, still watching Hisirdoux. Ordinarily, he would have given the familiar a look of exasperation, but at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to put down the telescope - as if doing so would cause Hisirdoux to vanish into thin air. A completely irrational thought, of course, but it didn’t change the amount of power that singular thought had over his actions.

Archie jumped up somewhere close by. “Yes. Busy with what? Playing pirate?”

“This is an Eye of Minerva,” Merlin said. “It allows me to see anywhere in the mortal world at this current moment.”

On the other side of the telescope, Hisirdoux shifted, leaning more of his weight against the adjacent wall.

“Do you see him?” Archie’s voice suddenly lost its snark. “Is he alright?”

“What do you think?” Merlin snapped, actually managing to pull himself away from the telescope to send the cat an angry glare.

“You know where he is, then?” Archie pressed.

Merlin returned his gaze back to Hisirdoux, relieved to find him just as he had last seen him. “Roughly.”

“Then what are we waiting for? We can get in, get out before Morgana starts the Eternal Night. He’ll be out of harm’s way-”

“No, Archie,” Merlin interrupted. He set down the telescope and disenchanted it, then returned it to its proper home on the shelf. “We mustn’t lose focus-”

Archie’s eager expression was replaced with defensive ire. “Lose-?! Douxie is my priority, and he should be yours, too. If we go now, Morgana won’t be able to use him as a hostage when we launch our assault-”

“That will simply be a risk we will have to take. Surprise is our only advantage-”

“You would put his life in danger-?!”

“We can find him when our battle is finished-”

“If we don’t rescue him now, she’ll kill him!” Archie protested.

“If we don’t defeat her, she’ll kill _everyone_!” Merlin exploded.

The shop creaked.

The sound of pumping blood and ringing silence filled Merlin’s ears.

For a few moments, the master wizard and his apprentice’s familiar glared at each other, each one convinced of his own moral high ground.

Eventually, the cat broke eye contact. Archie jumped off the table and back onto the floor, moving back towards the bookstore’s front entrance.

Before he ducked out, he said over his shoulder, “Douxie was wrong about you. You don’t care whether he lives or dies. Not in Camelot, and not now.”

“Get _out!”_ Merlin yelled, and with a wave of his hand, the suits of armor around the shop jolted to life, stepping forward in warning.

Archie scampered out of the bookstore, leaving Merlin very much alone.

* * *

Morgana’s mounting power caused the ground itself to tremble.

The Guardians made their final preparations.

A spiral of black dust and golden magic shot up into the air.

The Eternal Night was here.

* * *

Archie returned after a few hours. Neither of them discussed their argument at the bookstore - which Merlin was thankful for. It was hard enough trying to focus, knowing that Hisirdoux was alone, sitting in a cell in Trollmarket. The last thing he needed was an emotional distraction.

Yes, Merlin was good at two things: research and emotional suppression.

They split up, with the Trollhunter waiting at home until the Eternal Night was triggered, and the other two mortals going to their town square to evacuate as many civilians as they could. Merlin, Archie, and the large troll with the thick green mane set out for Trollmarket, ready to face Morgana.

As they moved down the crystal staircase, sneaking in while the forces of Gunmar were otherwise occupied, Merlin gave Archie a hard look. “Will I be able to count on you for your assistance against Morgana? I could use the help.”

Archie blinked at him from on where he sat on Aaarrrgghh’s shoulder, surprised at the admission.

Merlin scoffed. “I’m not too proud to ask for backup when I need it.”

“…For better or worse,” Archie started, “Hisirdoux always trusted in your plans. I will do the same. But, if she brings him into the fight, I can’t promise that I’ll choose you over him.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Merlin said, nodding once. “If we cannot defeat Morgana, be sure that saving Hisirdoux is your priority. I will deal with the witch.”

They continued forward in silence, moving ever closer to the battle Merlin had been anticipating for centuries.

When the Heartstone came into view, Archie stiffened.

“No,” Aaarrrgghh groaned. “Heartstone dying.”

“And once it’s gone, sadly, so is Trollmarket,” Merlin said. Though he had never seen Trollmarket with its inhabitants, he could feel the love and care that had been poured into its creation and upkeep. Magic was emotion, after all, and emotions left their distinct mark on everything and everyone involved. This was a place that was important to many and would be sorely missed. “Alas, that is a tragedy for tomorrow, my friend, for today brings its own doom.”

“And we can’t do anything to save it?” Archie asked.

Merlin shook his head, moving further into Trollmarket. “Gunmar was already feeding on it, before Morgana dealt the killing blow. If it wasn't today, it would have died in the next few months. Now come: we must defeat Morgana before she drains any more power from the Heartstone.”

Quickly, they made their way through the streets of Trollmarket, dodging Gumm-Gumm patrols as they went. The last thing they needed was to expend energy before facing Morgana - Merlin was low enough on magic as it was. Hopefully, his Staff of Avalon had enough residual magic to seal Morgana up once more.

It would have been _better_ if the Trollhunter was here, providing his amulet as an amplifier for Merlin’s abilities, but Jim had been clear: he was staying above ground, at least until Gunmar and Angor Rot had been dealt with.

Merlin would just have to make do. Hopefully, Aaarrrgghh and Archie would be enough.

Finally, they reached the Heartstone. The dead spires reverberated with empty echoes, giving off a distinctly _not right_ feeling. Morgana and the trolls were nowhere to be found, but the Eternal Night cut through the air, a windless twister underground.

“Now what?” Aaarrrgghh rumbled.

Merlin cautiously moved in, peering around the crystal in search of his former student. Seriously, how hard was it to spot a golden-armored, green-caped sorceress? “She’s supposed to be here,” he said, frowning. “She needs the power of the Heartstone.”

No, it was a trap. For sure.

Some distance behind him, the door to the inmost room of the Heartstone slid shut, sealing them inside.

As soon as it shut, a low laugh trickled through the room. Archie shifted into his dragon form, and Merlin summoned his sword, praying that nine hundred years of sleep hadn’t dulled his muscle memory, at the very least. He could use every advantage he got. A low rumble rattled in Aaarrrgghh’s chest.

“I was waiting for you to show up.” The voice of Morgana seemed to be coming from all directions.

Merlin tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. “Show yourself, Morgana. It’s not like you to play games.”

“I’ve had to adapt,” Morgana said. “Nine hundred years of being imprisoned forced me to separate my own soul from my body, in order to keep planning, to keep moving pieces into place. I’m rather clever, now - after all, I managed to kill several of your Trollhunters,free myself _and_ bring forth the Eternal Night. Not bad for a woman who couldn't so much as twitch for centuries, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say that nine hundred years has made you a coward,” Archie said.

A blur of grey was all that Merlin saw before something rock-hard plowed into his side, sending him flying across the room. Centuries of training kicked in and he managed to control his fall enough to ensure no severe injury to his person - though the impact with the wall of crystal was sure to leave its bruises.

He looked up and found Aaarrrgghh locked in combat with a lanky, grey troll. Despite Aaarrrgghh’s advantage in size and strength, the grey troll seemed to be a fair match as they traded blows. Archie hovered just out of the way, looking unsure of how to be helpful.

And there, in front of the whirlwind of dust, sand, and magic, hovered the Eldritch Queen herself, her golden armor glinting eerily in the light of the dying Heartstone. She held his staff in one hand, rings of runes circling her opposite wrist and casting a soft glow around her forearm.

Merlin pushed himself to his feet and lunged towards Morgana, sword poised and ready to strike. “Leave them alone, Morgana!”

“Surprise.” Morgana smiled. “Oh, have you missed me?”

He struck at her several times with his blade, but she parried each blow with his staff. She weaved through the air around him, as if flying was as easy as breathing to her. One of the benefits of shadowmancy was learning to maneuver without gravity - though, Merlin never could see the practicality of it. He would much rather cast spells from solid ground, thank you very much.

…He was starting to see the benefit of learning to master levitation.

The two trolls continued their brawl, though Merlin was much too distracted with fighting Morgana to pay much attention to them. He only vaguely registered the trolls’ departure as he struggled to keep up with and adapt to Morgana’s fighting style. He had never fought hand to hand with her before.

Then, by luck or dormant skill - he was never sure which - he managed to jab his sword into the staff’s handle. He flicked his wrist with a jerk, sending the staff soaring into the air.

He caught it, his hands finding the familiar grooves almost instantly. The Staff of Avalon, back in the hands of its rightful wielder.

Yes, a wizard’s staff was an amplifier, uniquely connected to a wizard’s magical signature. It harnessed and focused an otherwise unpredictable source of power.

But that connection could be manipulated.

Merlin poured his magic into the staff, ready to seal Morgana away, once and for all…

…

Nothing.

He choked, feeling the last of his magic drain into his staff - but, instead of amplifying the power, providing him with the edge he _so desperately needed_ , his staff scattered the magical energy into the air around him.

Morgana laughed in utter delight. “You old _fool,_ ” she spat.

Golden magic blasted him backwards, slamming him into the door to the inner chamber of the Heartstone.

“Merlin!” Archie cried, hurrying to the master wizard’s side. He shifted into the form of a small black bear, offering his shoulder for Merlin to use to stand back up again.

But Merlin could only look up at Morgana, cold horror gnawing at his empty insides. He never wanted to feel like this again - he’d spent _five thousand years_ dedicating every waking moment to _never feeling like this -_ but here he was.

Powerless.

“My- my magic,” he gasped. “You’ve taken it?”

“All those centuries you locked me away, what did you think I was doing?” Morgana asked, hovering over the ground as she drew steadily closer.

Archie let out a warning growl. “Merlin, stand _up._ I’ll lend you my power-”

“It’s no use,” Merlin said. “My staff won’t respond-”

“Then _make it_ _respond!”_ Archie snapped. “You’re Merlin. _Do something!”_

“You’ve put your hope in the wrong man,” Morgana said. The only other part of her face that was visible, apart from her emerald eyes, was her smile. “Have you forgotten that _this_ is the failure that couldn’t save your wizard familiar?”

Archie barred his teeth. “I watched you throw him into the Darklands with your own hand! _You_ were the one who doomed that poor boy, _not_ Merlin.” Archie made eye contact with Merlin. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“How touching,” Morgana said, disgusted. “Perhaps you would change your mind if you saw who he really is. An old relic, with no regard for magic that does not serve him. Why is he down here, wasting his time with me when there are hundreds of mortals on the surface? He couldn’t care _less_ about them. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can join me…and him.”

Morgana conjured a dark, inky portal with a motion of her fingers. Merlin used Archie as a support, preparing to face whatever monster she pulled out of the Shadow Realm-

Hisirdoux stumbled into the light.

Shock stunned Merlin for a moment. He regained his senses and took a half-step forward, his rib cage tightening at seeing his apprentice here, _right in front of him-_

Bruised and battered, with a bleeding cut above his eyebrow, a shoulder that looked out-of-place, and a somewhat hidden limp. His eyes were not dull, as they were when Merlin had first checked on him with the Eye of Minerva, but were instead wild with faux anger and thinly veiled fear. The inhibitor cuff was still around his ankle, glowing with runes that fed off of the very magic it was designed to suppress.

Hisirdoux’s gaze found Merlin and he mirrored his old master's shock.

Morgana snapped her fingers. Golden talons gripped the boy by the throat and wrists, forcing him down to his knees.

“There are so many ways to kill you, Merlin,” Morgana sighed. “Too bad I can’t try them all. I’ll just have to pick the worst one for you, and use the others on those too foolish to get out of my way.”

“Let him go, Morgana,” Merlin warned, finding new resolve within to stand up, to do battle with the witch again. “He has no part in our fight.”

“Doesn’t he?” Morgana challenged through gritted teeth. The golden talons dug into Hisirdoux’s skin, reacting to Morgana’s emotional state. Merlin wasn’t sure whether he should be more or less worried at his apprentice’s lack of a reaction.

“Tell me, what do you remember of Killahead Bridge?”

Merlin scowled. “Enough games-”

“Our battle wasn’t yet finished when your Trollhunter opened the Bridge,” Morgana interrupted. “With the portal to the Darklands opened, I saw an opportunity to be rid of you, once and for all. I sent a binding spell after you, intent on throwing you into the dying realm myself, but guess who jumped in the way?”

_Jumped…_

_In the way…?_

Merlin almost let the staff go slack in his hands.

Morgana grabbed Hisirdoux by the hair and pulled, her armored fingers digging into his scalp. He winced. “You were always an annoying servant, always underfoot, never learning, never _growing._ A waste of space,” Morgana hissed.

Hisirdoux glared at her in response.

“Unhand him _now,_ ” Merlin growled, leveling his staff at Morgana. “I will not warn you again.”

“Or what,” Morgana said, “you’ll use ‘magic’ against me? _I_ have your magic. You’re just as useless as he is.”

Hisirdoux looked back at Merlin in alarm.

Merlin could sense Archie’s agitation from where he stood, nearby.

Well, time for the back-up plan, then.

Merlin wasn’t an emotional person, nor was he the type to endure shows of emotion from others. But he had been human, once. Emotional outbursts were part of the deal.

He had spent years, training his magic to draw from his willpower instead of his emotions. Eventually, it became strong enough to rival power drawn from emotions - and, while it would never be _as_ powerful, it was easier to control and direct, easier to summon, and more reliable.

But he had relied on his rage and hurt to lock Morgana away. Perhaps, if he used a different source, he could finally be a contender in this fight. He might still have magic, somewhere within him.

He broke the dam, and power surged forth.

Rage and determination pumped through his veins, shooting from his heart to his fingertips like electricity. A flame rekindled in his soul, smoldering embers beginning to catch fire once again as they were fed.

“Lend me your power, Archibald,” Merlin requested. Archie nodded, and the familiar’s fear, his animal instinct to protect his own, and his relief shot through Merlin, feeding the fire further.

“Really?” Morgana taunted. “You? Draw on some sort of emotional core? You might as well have given up already.” She spoke with confidence, but Merlin knew both of his apprentices well. He could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes.

The Staff of Avalon glowed bright green.

“You will regret laying a _finger_ on him!” Merlin promised, and magic - _his_ magic, bright green and pulsing with fury - shot out of his staff, charging Morgana and forcing her to release his apprentice in order to counter the attack.

Merlin kept up a barrage, shooting strings of chain after her and slowly driving her away from where his apprentice knelt on the ground. “Archie! Get to Hisirdoux! Get him out of here!”

“On it!” Archie said, and he ducked away from Merlin’s side.

Morgana started to try and move back to Hisirdoux, the last card she had to play, but Merlin doubled his efforts, fueled by a second wave of fear. His spells were sloppy, and his fighting technique was all over the place, but it was working. Morgana had to keep all of her attention on Merlin just to keep up.

He took a _breath -_ a _single breath_ \- to cast a more powerful spell, and Morgana seized her opportunity.

She spat out a curse and pushed a hand towards Archie, who was now back in his dragon form. He hadn’t quite made it to Hisirdoux when a bright yellow circle sparked to life on the ground, lashing yellow tendrils across the familiar’s body and pinning him to the floor.

Hisirdoux pulled against Morgana’s restraints, a hoarse cry escaping him.

Merlin’s fear increased, and so did his power. Working quickly, he alternated between subjects, firing an attack at Morgana and then a spell to free Hisirdoux from both Morgana’s magic and the inhibitor cuff on the boy’s ankle. He was just barely able to free him before Morgana became too much of a threat to ignore, and he returned to fighting her.

“We both know you're not suited for emotion, old man. Your loved ones will be your undoing,” Morgana said as they fought. “Arthur was mine. He will be yours!”

“Hisirdoux, take Archie and get out of here!” Merlin yelled to the room. He couldn’t even look away from Morgana long enough to see where Hisirdoux was, but he trusted his apprentice to follow orders-

Wait, nope. No he didn’t.

Nevertheless, he pushed Hisirdoux out of his mind for the moment. He couldn’t fight Morgana _and_ his fear at the same time.

But with every attack, his magic grew weaker. His emotions were stretched thin, having run their course only to leave exhaustion in their wake. He used to have fear, rage, and protectiveness running through his body. Now, there was only desperation, and the feeling of being much too old for this.

And then, he slipped.

Morgana dodged a particularly sloppy attack and fired back, and he couldn’t muster the energy for a protective barrier in time. Though the attack’s magical effect was canceled out by his enchanted armor, it still blasted him back across the room. He skittered across the stone floor, more bruises forming underneath the armor, he was sure.

He hit the wall and groaned, but forced himself to his feet, using his staff - the all-powerful Staff of Avalon, powered by time itself and the will of Prometheus - as a simple crutch.

“I’ve been thinking about your death for nine hundred years, planning out every detail,” Morgana said, golden magic fluctuating around her fingers in anticipation.

“I’m flattered,” Merlin said dryly.

Morgana’s easy smile turned into a snarl. “Good-bye, old man.” She raised her hand to deal the finishing blow-

Merlin felt something on his wrist, and a blue beam of magic shot forward, forcing Morgana to abort her attack and go on the defensive.

That…wasn’t him.

Merlin glanced down to find that Hisirdoux was grabbing onto Merlin’s wrist, his grip solid but loose enough so that he could pull away, if he wanted. He didn’t.

Merlin looked into Hisirdoux’s eyes and found steely determination - a look that transported his mind back to simpler days, teaching his young apprentice basic spells and monsterology. His apprentice had had the same look then, sitting at the desk by the stained glass window in his workshop as he copied over incantations and enchantment runes. He had the same look, standing braced for anything as Merlin carefully walked him through whatever spell they were practicing, correcting the boy’s stance if needed.

Hisirdoux looked back into Merlin's eyes and nodded once. _Do it._

A moment later, Hisirdoux’s palm began to glow blue against Merlin's armor. Emotions flooded into Merlin's chest - _anxious fear, aching loneliness, a flicker of hope, desperate anger, warm love, numbing despair_ \- as Hisirdoux poured his own magical energy into his old master. Blue Trollish runes appeared across Merlin's armor, glowing brightly against the ancient metal and humming, vibrating through his skin.

...Merlin didn't think that Hisirdoux knew how to do that.

Douxie grinned, likely picking up on Merlin’s emotions in turn. He could only imagine what the boy felt; his emotions were so worn out, so jumbled up and stretched that he couldn't name what he was feeling if he tried (or was remotely interested). He pushed aside his questions about his apprentice’s newfound magical abilities, focusing instead on channeling Hisirdoux's power. It felt familiar - he sincerely doubted that he could forget the magical signatures of those he cared about. Douxie’s melody fit like a missing puzzle piece, a song easily remembered and sorely missed.

Merlin added the remnants of his own magic to Hisirdoux's - a heartbeat keeping time to his apprentice’s song.

He channeled their magic into the Staff of Avalon. _“Iterum congelo!”_

But Morgana was ready. _“Medeis speculum!”_ she countered, redirecting Merlin’s spell into the roof of the cavern.

Merlin was just barely able to recollect his wits, pulling Hisirdoux into his side and conjuring a basic protection spell around them. _“Servare!”_

And then, the dark consumed them.

If he weren’t currently using what remained of his energy to keep up the protection spell, keeping the crumbling roof of the cavern from crushing them to death, he would have summoned a light to check Hisirdoux over for injuries. A voice in the back of his head yelled at him anyway, demanding that he make sure he wasn’t going to lose his apprentice to blood loss or something ridiculously mortal, but he didn't dare move, keeping Hisirdoux pressed under his arm, against his side. He might not have been able to check for injuries, but he could feel the steady breathing of his apprentice, and that was enough. He would rather know that his apprentice was safe, protected, and breathing, for now.

It wasn't a hug. It was a protective hold. That was all. Don't be ridiculous.

A second later, a gentle blue glow illuminated the space. Hisirdoux’s hand shown in Merlin’s face for a moment before the light traveled down, skimming over his armor.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re making sure _I’m_ the uninjured one?”

Hisirdoux nodded, face serious.

“Would you tell me if _you_ were hurt?”

Hisirdoux hesitated.

Merlin sighed, but a note of relief rang through him. “Some things never change, I see.”

Hisirdoux had the decency to give him an embarrassed smile, and despite himself - despite the awful, near-death, end-of-the-world situation that they were currently in - Merlin couldn’t keep a small smile from his face.

“Perhaps you could make an exception, for this once,” Merlin pressed, back to business. “Are you hurt?”

Hisirdoux hesitated, then moved his head side to side. _Sort of._

Merlin’s heartbeat stuttered. “Anything life-threatening?”

Hisirdoux hastily shook his head.

Merlin narrowed his eyes.

Hisirdoux shook his head with vigor.

“If I discover that you’re lying-”

Hisirdoux shook his head and put his hands up in surrender. The light, still activated on Hisirdoux’s palm, temporarily blinded Merlin, who had to blink several times to clear his vision. When the black spots had finally faded, Hisirdoux was back at it again with the embarrassed smile.

“Kindly don’t do that again,” Merlin requested.

Hisirdoux nodded.

Merlin cast a look about the space. There was enough room to move about, so he relinquished his hold on his apprentice (though kept a hand on the boy’s shoulder). Hisirdoux continued to steadily feed magical energy through their link, holding onto Merlin’s wrist to maintain contact. A faint green barrier caught Hisirdoux’s light, and, though it wasn’t as strong as Merlin would have liked, it looked like it would hold, for now.

First, they had to figure out how to remove the bits of cavern roof from the shield’s surface - preferably before their energy ran out and the protection spell broke.

“Well, any ideas?” Merlin asked, looking to his apprentice.

Hisirdoux blinked at him, incredulous. He pointed at himself.

“Yes, you. Who else would I possibly be talking to?”

Hisirdoux looked around the space, taking in their predicament.

Then, he turned back to his wrist cuff, scrolling through the numerous runes - some of which Merlin didn’t recognize - until he landed on a select few. Then, connecting them as he would a constellation, the blue glow was extinguished for a brief moment. A half-breath later, the blue glow returned, this time illuminating the edge of the boulders around them. Hisirdoux’s eyes were closed in concentration and his left palm was outstretched as magic hummed in the air around them.

Suddenly, the boulders lifted, their weight negated to less than nothing. They drifted out of the pile, filling the chamber around them.

Hisirdoux’s knees buckled, but Merlin caught him before he could hit the ground, one arm around the boy’s middle. “Steady,” Merlin said quietly. “I imagine you’ve expended quite a lot of magical energy. Don’t use any more, or you risk going into Recovery for who knows how long.”

Hisirdoux nodded, dazed.

“Can you walk?”

Hisirdoux blinked at him sluggishly.

“…I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ then,” Merlin said, moving Hisirdoux’s arm over his shoulder. Carefully, he lifted his apprentice into his arms _(Wasn’t Hisirdoux supposed to be heavier than this?)_ and maintained his protection spell. He didn’t know what spell Hisirdoux had just used, but considering the boy’s current state, it wouldn’t surprise him if it wore off quickly, left with no magical energy to sustain it.

Merlin took a look at the whirlwind still raging in the room - his half of the mission, still incomplete - and turned away, moving towards the door. He would have to find another source of magic to undo Morgana’s Eternal Night enchantment. For now, it remained irreversible.

The floating boulders gently knocked against Merlin’s protection spell before being pushed out of the way as he moved through the room.

“Stay awake,” Merlin said quietly, glancing down Hisirdoux. “There will be a time for rest later. The battle still rages on, and we still have a part to play.”

Hisirdoux nodded, but he didn’t lift his head from Merlin’s shoulder.

“And I have many questions for you,” Merlin added.

A small smile appeared on Hisirdoux’s face, and something within Merlin loosened - some fear that had been holding tightly onto his bones. The fear that Hisirdoux would have lost himself in the Darklands, that Merlin would be powerless to help him, to save him, even if he was physically returned to his rightful plane of existence.

He took a moment to scan his apprentice for injury. Thankfully, it seemed like he had been telling the truth when he said there wasn’t anything life-threatening. The scars and bruises that Merlin _could_ see didn’t ease his worries, and that shoulder and limp weren't helping, either. But they would have to wait.

Merlin stopped just before they left the room. “Where’s your familiar?”

Hisirdoux pointed to the door.

“Right. Let’s not keep him waiting, shall we? I’m sure he’s worried.”

Merlin opened the door and barely registered a mass of black fur flying at him.

Archie, a cat once more, landed on Hisirdoux’s torso. “Douxie, are you alright? Are you hurt? What happened?” This last question was directed at Merlin, but the old master wizard didn’t have time to reply. Hisirdoux wrapped his free arm around Archie, bundling him to his chest. In return, Archie nuzzled closer, nestling his face in the small space between Hisirdoux’s jaw and collar.

“Is Aaarrrgghh up ahead?” Merlin asked, moving forward. When he didn’t receive an answer from either of the two he was carrying, he simply rolled his eyes and let them be. He would find out for himself, soon enough.

Despite the present break in action, he wasn’t so foolish as to believe the battle was over. He kept on guard for Morgana, moving as quietly and quickly as he could manage in a suit of armor.

They exited the Heartstone with no trouble, and Merlin peered out into Trollmarket in search of Aaarrrgghh and Morgana - for very different reasons. He found his ally, but Morgana was nowhere to be found. Aaarrrgghh seemed to be leading an army of…Gumm-Gumms? Against other Gumm-Gumms?

…

He supposed he had seen weirder sights.

“Master Merlin.”

Merlin whipped around, tightening his hold on Hisirdoux and bracing himself to fight or run - whichever was needed.

The red Gumm-Gumm that had spoken put his hands in the air. “Don’t be afraid. I am Kanjigar, forty-ninth wielder of your amulet.”

Merlin frowned. “Oh. …Hello.”

“Let me have the boy,” Kanjigar said, holding his hands out in an open offer. “We will protect him - we can do that much. We need you to deal with Morgana and end the Eternal Night. Our Trollhunter is currently trying to fight against her, but he is no match for her alone.”

“Right,” Merlin said, but he looked down and found himself unable to move. Hisirdoux and Archie looked up at him, both of them waiting to see what he would do - hand them off to a Gumm-Gumm that claimed to be a former Trollhunter of his, or keep them by his side?

For once, he didn’t think he had an answer.

He knew he needed to defeat Morgana, save the surface lands, and end the Eternal Night. He knew that the Trollhunter and his friends were waiting on him to do so, and that every moment that he did nothing was another moment that they were in greater danger than necessary.

He also felt, deep in his being, that he needed to do everything to ensure the safety of his apprentice and his allies, to protect them himself, so that there would be no mistakes.

“The best way to keep them safe is to defeat Morgana and end the Eternal Night,” Kanjigar said, reading his mind - or perhaps reading his face. He wasn’t exactly focusing on keeping his emotions to himself, at that moment.

The war raged on around them.

The war raged on in Merlin’s soul.

The stone they stood on rattled, and Merlin turned to find Aaarrrgghh approaching. The gentle brute’s eyes fell on Merlin’s apprentice, and he pieced together what was happening. “Is okay,” Aaarrrgghh assured him. “On our team.”

He had no excuse.

“Alright,” Merlin relented. He carefully passed Hisirdoux into Kanjigar’s waiting arms, then cupped the boy’s cheek and looked him in the eye. “I will return. I promise.”

Hisirdoux nodded.

Merlin turned to Archie. “I trust you will keep him safe.”

“I won’t leave him for a second,” Archie said.

Gently, Merlin ran a hand back between Archie’s ears - a wordless “thank you” and vote of confidence. Without another word, Merlin tore himself away, hurrying back into the Heartstone. “Aaarrrgghh! Get to the Trollhunter!”

With that, the door automatically slid shut behind him.

He shifted his grip on his staff, hurrying back to where the source of the Eternal Night still twisted.

How on earth was he supposed to undo this?

This magic wasn’t something he had experience with. Shadowmancy was hard enough to undo without dabbling too much in the dark arts. This…this was something else.

Well then. It looked like he would be starting from scratch and improvising.

Merlin stood in front of the whirlwind and closed his eyes, blocking out his senses and using his sixth sense instead, reaching out with what remained of his aura to determine the nature of the enchantment.

It lashed against him, scratching and tearing the air around it as it warped and twisted into the sky.

He let it, for a few minutes, learning its signature and shaping his own magic to be just so…

He stepped into the twister and grabbed hold of the enchantment. It lifted him into the air, into the middle of the whirlwind, but he didn’t let go. He was _Merlin,_ the great Prometheus, the Wizard of the North, Grand Mage of Camelot.

He breathed in the residual magic in the air, absorbing the shreds of energy and forcing them to change, to match his signature. The fire in him swelled, burning with vigor under his skin.

 _“Mora azuth!”_ he yelled, the ancient words naturally bursting forth from magically-guided instinct. Green light infected the whirlwind, the magic he had absorbed scattering and forcing Morgana’s enchantment to obey Merlin’s will.

The red seeped and faded from the atmosphere, and the first rays of sunlight returned to the earth.

The Eternal Night was over.

Something within Merlin clicked into place. It felt like he could finally get a big enough breath into his lungs, like five hundred years of age had been lifted from him. His magic was back.

He saw the Trollhunter with his allies on the bridge and descended towards them. “You have made me proud, Champion,” he said. “I am forever in your service.” He bowed respectfully in front of Jim. After all, he had protected the innocents on the surface, in the thick of the battle, while Merlin had been tossed around by Morgana below. This boy had risked everything, had sacrificed everything.

And it had paid off.

Jim grinned at him, somehow maintaining that youthful innocence, even in his troll form.

Merlin turned to Aaarrrgghh. “Where’s-”

“Down, by entrance,” Aaarrrgghh said. “Under bridge.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, and with that, he stepped off the bridge, slowing his fall with his staff - had he mentioned how good it felt to have magic once more?

His eyes fell on Hisirdoux and Archie, sitting by the open entrance to what was once Trollmarket.

Hisirdoux smiled at him as he approached, but Merlin wasn’t fooled - especially when his apprentice remained seated. “Alright, let’s see them.”

Hisirdoux looked at him questioningly.

“Your injuries,” Merlin clarified, kneeling down next to him.

Hisirdoux rolled his eyes, but held out his hand. Merlin clasped it and let his magical energy bleed back into his apprentice, returning what Hisirdoux had so willingly given to him. As the magic adapted to Hisirdoux’s signature, it worked to mend his body as well, healing cuts and bruises and other superficial damage. His dislocated shoulder eased back into place, and his knee - an old wound - began to reverse its damage.

“You’ll be sore for a few days, but then you’ll be back to your usual self,” Merlin said, releasing Hisirdoux's hand.

“And his voice?” Archie asked. “Can you heal that?”

Merlin frowned. He leaned forward and gestured for Hisirdoux to do the same. Hisirdoux did so with a wince.

Moving slowly, Merlin put his thumbs against the hollow of Hisirdoux’s throat, gently pressing against the skin. He rested his other fingers against the sides of the boy's neck. “Try to speak.”

Hisirdoux opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Merlin could feel nothing but a pulse beneath his fingertips. Cheeks coloring in embarrassment, Hisirdoux shut his mouth again.

“It’s alright,” Archie said. “Neither of us are going to make fun of you, Douxie.”

Hisirdoux glanced at Merlin, who nodded in agreement.

That seemed to be all he needed. Hisirdoux returned the nod and closed his eyes. He opened his mouth again, and a hoarse noise came out of his mouth - a breathy, noteless sound. Merlin could feel the muscles in his throat working.

“That’s it,” Merlin encouraged. “Come on.”

Keeping his eyes closed, Hisirdoux continued the hoarse sound until, finally, it broke, and a note of his original voice came out. “Hhh…hhh-hey,” he croaked.

Hisirdoux opened his eyes and beamed, and Merlin couldn’t stop himself from returning the look; his joy was infectious. “Hello yourself,” he said.

A half-second later, Hisirdoux threw his arms around Merlin’s middle, resting his head on the master wizard’s shoulder. Merlin caught him and held him close, taking comfort in the his apprentice’s breathing, his pulse, his warmth, and the familiar thrum of his magic, all signs that he was _alive._ He was _present,_ not trapped in the Darklands - the one place Merlin couldn't go, the one place where his magic couldn't break through. He cupped the back of the boy’s head, essentially cradling him in his arms.

 _I’m so sorry, son,_ he wanted to say. _This never should have happened to you. You should never have sacrificed yourself for me. You deserve a better fate. I am in your debt, and I swear I’ll protect you._

 _I’m so proud of you,_ he wanted to say. _I look forward to seeing how you’ve grown, the wizard you’ve become on your own terms. You’ve already made me so proud._

“Don’t do that again,” he said instead. “I would hate to have survived this long, only to be killed by cardiac arrest. And if that’s how I die, I will scorn the afterlife, just so that I can haunt you for eternity.”

Hisirdoux tightened his embrace, and Merlin did the same.

No, emotions weren’t Merlin’s specialty. In fact, he liked to pretend he didn’t have them, choosing will and wisdom over instinct and feeling.

But at that moment, his emotions were so overpowering that he didn’t want to let go of his long-lost apprentice - the boy he assumed had died a gruesome death in the Darklands until only two days prior. Going from _that_ worldview to the reality he lived in now, where Hisirdoux was alive and well in his arms…

He couldn’t let go.

They might have stayed like that for hours if the Trollhunter hadn’t shown up, ready to discuss the next steps for Trollmarket. Even then, Merlin stayed beside his apprentice, keeping a hand on his shoulder at all times.

(Jim and Claire told him, later, that Morgana had tried her same trick again, attempting to drag a loved one into the Shadow Realm as some sort of final victory, but they managed to save Claire before the worst could come to pass. Again.)

(Perhaps working with those you trusted had its advantages, after all.)

Jim was kind enough to allow Hisirdoux to use his home to wash off nine hundred years of Darklands grime. ("The first thing I did after getting out of the Darklands was take a shower - I just figured you'd want one too.")

The Trollhunter also offered his old human clothes to Merlin's apprentice, and he even made him a meal before they had to set off on the road. ("What's your favorite food? ...That's it. We're learning ASL.")

It seemed like almost a millennium of torture and being forced to fight for sport had not affected Hisirdoux’s sense of humor. He laughed and smiled with everyone else. In fact, if not for the scars on his wrists (which he covered with black bracelets, courtesy of Claire), one might never know that he had lived in a dying world for centuries. 

Archie and Merlin quietly agreed to closely monitor Hisirdoux. Any sign of battle shock - the children called it PTSD - was to be dealt with gently, but promptly.

And so, that night, they set out to find a new heartstone. For once, Merlin didn’t know what the future held, and he didn’t find himself particularly concerned. He was the keeper of time, wielder of the Staff of Avalon, bearer of the gift of foresight and prophecy, but for now, he simply wanted to enjoy the present: dealing with small foes, helping his apprentice regain his voice, and resuming training - now with two apprentices, one with powerful magic and the other with a natural gift for shadowmancy, as it was before.

Although the future was unclear, one thing was for certain: Merlin had just spent nine hundred years in Recovery - a magically-induced coma specifically designed to be the most restful sleep of his life, but he slept better with his apprentice leaning against him and his familiar laying peacefully on top of them both.

And finally, all was at rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @pechoraflow 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr to get updated on my projects!


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